


The faults of a haven

by SpaceBat (kuraikon)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hostage Situation, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier!Whump, Kidnapping, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yes the horse gets a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuraikon/pseuds/SpaceBat
Summary: “If you touch him,” he snarled, stilling the man’s hand in mid air. “I swear, if you touch him I will commit all manner of sins to bring you as much pain as possible. I will feed you your own damn insides.”Kink meme fill.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 1812





	The faults of a haven

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: NON-CON + REFERENCED TORTURE 
> 
> Promoted on the Witcher kink meme:
> 
> _Geralt/Jaskier, forced to watch, non-con_
> 
> _Up to author anon as to what leads up to this situation or who the attacker is (maybe enemy soldiers, another witcher, etc), but Jaskier is raped and Geralt is unable to do anything. Up to author anon if they want Yennifer or any other characters (but as unwilling witnesses. etc)._
> 
> _+Focus on the incident itself + aftermath/recovery_  
>  +No magical healing sex, etc.
> 
> While all the non-con bits are non-graphic, it’s also a heavy implication of a long stint of non-con and torture so please be aware of this. Also mentions of violence and torture but again , nothing too graphic.

The letter is waiting for Geralt when he arrives back at the inn, two days later than he really should have gotten there, pretending not to sulk as he dragged his feet back down the mountain alone at a contrast to the huge group that had first set off in hunt of the dragon.

Saving a dragons egg should be a boast to any man, let alone a Witcher, but Geralt’s heart was heavy with guilt; the dead mother dragon, the child surprise, Yennifer’s want for a babe of her own, her hurt when she found out about his wish, and, finally, Jaskier.

In truth, despite the unfairly harshness of his words and the fact that Jaskier had left the mountain without him, Geralt was still surprised to see only his belongings in the room they had rented, the bard’s items clearly long removed. Part of him had still expected to see the man awaiting his return, pouting but eager to accept his grunt of apology.

 _’At least I know he made it down safe.’_ Geralt thought as he packed up his own gear, wincing as another unpleasant wave of guilt washed over him at the idea of Jaskier picking his way slowly down the mountain and monster-filled trail, camping alone with so few resources seeing as Geralt still had the tents and roll ups laid out on the cliff edge. 

Jaskier’s green ink had scribbled his name on the envelope’s front, his scrawl even messier than usual, most likely in his eagerness to get away before Geralt’s return. When the inn keeper handed it over, the Witcher almost threw it straight away, not wanting to read Jaskier’s scathing remarks or, worse, his understanding words. Instead, Geralt scrunched it in his hand and pushed it deep into a pocket to forget about as he stormed from the inn, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the wretched place as possible, wishing he could hide away his building feelings as easily as he could the letter.

-

There the letter stayed until around three weeks later. 

Sat in a corner of a new towns inn, Geralt slowly worked his way through the broth and bread he had been given by the barmaid, an extra thanks for putting an end to their nightwraith problem.

“Afraid, I don’t have many spare coins to toss you,” she had said with a chuckle as she bought the food over unbidden with his ale, “But I hope this will show our gratitude just as well.”

At the reference to the song, Geralt had to physically stop himself from flinching, instead managing to thank the bar maid with as much warmth as he could muster in his state. The nightwraith had been a powerful spirit and a hard fight and Geralt had taken more than just a bruise or two from the battle. Just reaching for his drink pulled on the claw marks that had ripped through his armour and shirt painfully. He would eat first and then bathe, though the idea was tainted by the memory of his last wraith take down, where Jaskier had helped him wash his hair to stop further trauma to his injured side, praising and scolding Geralt in turn as he then skilfully sewed stitches to the wound and applied salve.

Jaskier had spoilt the Witcher; Geralt used to be able to do all this himself but now he constantly found himself moodily put off having to sort his own injuries.

Almost unconsciously, Geralt dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out Jaskier’s letter. It was folded and rumpled from the journey it had weathered in the Witcher’s pocket but a large hand smoothing it on the table removed the worst. His name in Jaskier’s hand mocked him and, unwilling to torture himself any more tonight, Geralt went to stuff the note back into its home when the open flap of the envelope caught his eye.

Between fold of paper inside, Geralt could see that the note was written in black ink, not the normal green that the bard ridiculously wasted his coin on. Pulling the paper out, Geralt found not one but two notes inside, a slip of paper with Jaskier’s green untidy scrawl informing Geralt he would be giving him some space and a second note folded in half written in black ink and the words carefully, though not overly skilfully, printed.

Geralt found himself on his feet without realising it as his eyes flew over the paper again and again, trying to convince himself he was misunderstanding the words. The clatter of the chair pulled the other bar patrons attention but Geralt gave them no notice until the barmaid came over to him.

“You’ve gone mighty pale, Witcher, can I get you another drink?” She asked, hesitation in her voice as she noticed his shaking hand clutching the letter.

“My horse,” Geralt replies, eyes not leaving the note. “I need my horse, now!”

-

Roach was an impressive horse in any respect but even she outdid herself when Geralt swung himself upon her, immediately picking up on her riders distress and urgency and giving a high whinny before setting off in the direction of the towns Eastern exit. Geralt gave her no let up and, loyal as always, she pushed on, shaving the journeys time down by a good half a day, only stopping when Geralt pulled them aside to allow her to eat and drink. Even then her master fretted and paced while she had her reprieve and so she nudged him helpfully when she was able to go again, trusting he wouldn’t let her push herself too far. 

Eventually, just past midnight just over a day later, Geralt slowed Roach down and had her walk softly around the edge of the town near the base of the mountain he wished he could ignore as it loomed above him, partially blocking out the moonlight. Together, they circled the town twice before Geralt directed them further into the forest on the North side, getting off Roach to lead her into the barely lit trees. They stopped on an incline, just able to see the smoke rising from a hunting cabin a bit aways and Roach held silently still while her Witcher quietly unloaded the weapons from her pack.

“Stay here and rest till I call,” he whispered, not tying her reigns and knowing she would not stray. “I worry I will need you to be strong a while longer my girl.”

A smart mare, she knew better than to affirm by noise and instead gave a loving chew to Geralt’s shoulder pad. With a parting pat to her neck, the Witcher disappeared silently into the forest.

-

_“Witcher, you should take more care with your things. We expected to jump you on your return but grew bored and, seeing as you’ve left your whore alone and wanting, we’ve generously taken him in till you return. Find us in the abandoned lodge outside of town - come alone and unarmed less risk damage to your bard’s pretty face. This is what happens when you stay where you are not wanted, freak.”_

-

It took all of Geralt’s restraint and training not to kick down the door of the cabin and tear into any person he found there. Instead, he found himself struggling to remain calm while analysing the building and slipping silently into an unlatched window, finding himself in an empty and dirty kitchen area with a dwindling fire still sending smoke up the chimney. 

The place was old and rotting, but Geralt’s footsteps were silent as he moved in the darkness of the room and listened at the wooden door, holding his breath and hearing no one. One hand pushed the door open and the other curled loose around a silver dagger as he edged himself into the room, lit only by moonlight and very much bare. Skulking around the edge of the room, Geralt paused in front of a tapestry that hung on the wall and tilted his head, focusing his senses. There was a smell, enclosed and stiff coming from the fabric and the more he pulled at it the more it felt like it was drifting around the hanging like a draft. Pulling the tapestry aside, Geralt found a hidden door which was suspiciously unlocked. Painfully slowly, Geralt lifted the latch and pulled the door open, relieved when no squeak followed the moving of the hinges. Only opening the door as wide as needed, Geralt crept in and pulled the door behind him.

He was greeted by a steep stone staircase, dimly lit by a glowing light at the base of the stairs. Lighter than his body should be able to move, Geralt silently worked his way down and surveyed the room it led to:

The underground room was warm and stuffy, smelling unwashed and old, with an almost metallic tang from the ageing stone walls. Geralt could only see two doors, one on the wall opposite himself which had been left ajar and one on the wall to his right which was closed, both looking well made and hardy, with multiple and unmatching deadlocks attached. The left side of the room held a table and shelves which were messy with leftover food and cards and where a single man with a hand-me-down looking blade at his side sat, his head propped up in his hand as he used a small knife to cut slits into the table side.

Amber eyes took all this in before locking onto a satchel that had been thrown unceremoniously under the table, made of light tan leather and sporting a scratch along its right side that Geralt remembers the owner bitching about for days after a ghoul had infected the damage, more hurt over the scratch there than the one on his cheek from the same creature.

Jaskier was here.

-

So silent he was more of a shadow creeping along the floor than a physical being, Geralt grabbed the man by the scruff of his jacket and lifted him bodily from his chair, cutting of the man’s yelp of surprise by holding his dagger to the man’s neck.

“Drop the knife.”

With a clang, the knife fell to the stone floor without hesitation. 

“Where’s the bard?”

“I don’t-“ 

“Don’t lie to me.” Geralt hissed at him, pressing his blade more firmly to the tender skin, hard enough that if the man swallowed he would cut himself against the sharp edge. “Where is he?”

The man whimpered but said nothing. Whether he would tell or not didn’t matter as just then Geralt’s sensitive ears picked up the noise of a door opening and closing somewhere close. Both men held still as murmuring voice carried across the room from the ajar door before another voice answered.

Though the second voice was hoarse, Geralt could, and had previously, picked it out of a crowd, recognising it easily.

“Jaskier,” he breathed, removing the blade from the man’s throat who relaxed with a shaky breath. Geralt wrinkled his nose down at him. “If one hair on his head is hurt, I’ll be back for you.” He promised, flicking his blade around swiftly in his hand and slamming the butt of the handle to the man’s head, catching the dead weight before letting him fall to the ground. 

Striding across the room and too eager to be any more cautious, Geralt pushed through the door hastily, looking around as he made his way across the enclosed space.

It was empty.

But Geralt could now smell Jaskier, he had to be close.

A slam of a door made Geralt spin around and the sounds of deadbolts closing had him flying to the door he had entered from, slamming against it without a budge from the wood. Dimly, he heard scuffling behind the door and some excitable chatter, but he ignored this as he shoved his weight against the door again, glancing around the empty room in frustration.

“Fuck.”

-

There were no doors, only stone surrounding Geralt and some mouldy looking crates stored at the end of the room. No windows either, seeing as this section of the house was under ground but to the right of the room, just about at Geralt’s eye height, a square opening had been left open and instead of stone there were thick metal bars crossing the empty space which looked narrower than Geralt’s shoulders and shorter than his forearm. Although it was not going to be any use for escape, Geralt moved towards it and peered through the bars, looking into the room which looked to be almost twice the size of his own small prison, decked out with little else than a collection of buckets in varying degrees of fullness and a straw bed with a ratty bundle of blankets. The wall that had the bed pressed against it had a metal loop imbedded into the stone, a chain threaded through which was attached to the source of his searching.

Jaskier stood, alive but clearly mistreated, pale and drawn with more dirt covering him than Geralt had seen on him bar a few messier hunts. His clothes were definitely not his own, large and hanging off his body, the sleeves of his shirt cut short and exposing the cuffs around his wrists which teathered him to his cell. Now, he scowled at the other man in the room, a tired and stubborn look.

“How many times,” Jaskier croaked, and though he knew the bard was in pain, Geralt’s heart lifted at hearing that voice, though his ears easily picked up the slight tremor. “I don’t know where he is. And he won’t be coming. You’re wasting your time.”

The man hummed, looking unphased. He was clearly a man of wealth and seemed so out of place in this lodge; his clothes were a flash of purples and reds, looking soft and new and layered with jewellery. No jewels hung at the end of his necklace chains but everything about his scream style over substance, from his unmarked face, down past his gleaming buttons, all the way to his polished boots. Maybe a touch shorter than Jaskier, he was bulkier and Geralt was willing to wager it wasn’t muscle that was under his clothes.

“Can’t you sing a different song? I grow tired of your lies, bard.” The man flicked an invisible piece of dirt from his arm as the door behind him opened. “The Witcher will come for you - and you had best hope so, otherwise you’re no use to me at all.”

A man came through the door, Geralt could see three others in the doorway but Jaskier paid them no mind. 

“You might as well kill me then,” he said to his kidnapper and the almost-plead in his voice twisted Geralt’s stomach. “He won’t come and I won’t ever break his confidence.”

The wealthy man, Geralt assumed he must be a Lord of sorts, gave a unattractive snort, half turning from Jaskier to pay attention to the man who was squirming in his need to have his masters permission to speak.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You provide far to much entertainment for my men.” He cackled at his own comment and motioned for the man to step forward and speak.

As the other man whispered in his masters ear, Geralt stared at Jaskier, hoping he would catch his eye, just the bard stood motionless, dull eyes trying to stay steadily on the men facing him and he blinked hard and wavered in his feet in a clear show of weariness.

Suddenly, the kidnapper clapped delightedly, making both Geralt and Jaskier snap their attention to him.

“Finally, finally!” The man crowed, rubbing his ringed fingers into his palms. “While on the subject of your entertaining ways, I have a guest for you to demonstrate your uses to.” 

Jaskier swallowed hard and a wave of unease and fear mixed with the bards smell and washed over Geralt. The first man left the room but the other three entered and Jaskier took a step back, his chains rattling on the floor as his legs hit the edge of his cot. The kidnapper paid the room no mind as his heart and breath quickened in excitement.

“After all,” he continued with a giddy lilt to his voice. “He took a long time to get here so it’s only fair he see what skills you have honed while staying with us.” 

Jaskier paled and began to shake his head. “H-he’s not. He’s...”

“May I present!” The man cried, cutting Jaskier off and locking eyes with Geralt through his bars, flashing his teeth in a smile as he motioned towards Geralt, bringing Jaskier’s wide blue eyes to the Witcher’s direction. “Geralt of Rivia!”

-

Jaskier’s body shook as his eyes met Geralt’s through the bars, mouth falling open wordlessly as he continued the soft shake of his head in denial. Seeing one of the men reach for the bard, Geralt lifted a hand and gripped one of the metal bars hard.

“If you touch him,” he snarled, stilling the man’s hand in mid air. “I swear, if you touch him I will commit all manner of sins to bring you as much pain as possible. I will feed you your own damn insides.”

The men looked at each other in hesitation and then to their master who rolled his eyes to the heaven.

“Don’t be daft boys, he’s locked in there and there he will stay to starve. Even Witcher’s succumb to bodily needs eventually.” He crossed the room to stand near Geralt’s opening. “We’ve never met, Wolf, but you took something from me and I have had nothing but revenge in my head ever since. I,” he announced to the room, “am Lord Stenton.”

The name tasted familiar but Geralt kept his face a stony scowl which made the Lord blow out a breath of frustrated air.

“You were contracted by my wife around a year ago, to rid our town of a monster. A werewolf it turned out to be. A she-wolf and her son in fact, a young lad most of the month but come the rise of the moon a feral hungry creature.” Geralt remembered, now, that the Lady Stenton has begged for his help, fearful for her new born daughter as the mother wolf was snatching babes from their beds to feed her son, a born wolf, and taking so full advantage of her monstrous side that she had started to take and eat the young even outside of the moons rise. Geralt only found out about the pup when he was mid fight with the mother, the boy joining in unexpectedly and clumsily attacking Geralt before basically impaling himself on the silver blade in his eagerness for a fresh meal. 

The mother had been quick after that, heartbroken and begging and swearing to turn every child she met. Geralt has wrapped both bodies up and had taken them to the morgue to be buried, he had steadfastly refused to remove their heads as proof and instead had the Lady come view the bodies herself.

Geralt had a bad bout of insomnia following this contract and he distinctly remembers running into Jaskier a few days later at an inn and having the bard give a sympathetic ear before drawing him a hot lavender bath and playing him a gentle tune as the Witcher finally fell into sleep on the bards bed. 

At the recognition in the Witcher’s eyes, the Lord continued. “Oh my wife and the the villagers were so pleased, she happily paid you with my own coin. But that she wolf? Was my bed warmer. And that pup? My son. My useless bitch of a wife had only born me daughters and that boy, that wolf, was my heir. You killed my heir.” The man was panting now, staring at Geralt’s impassive face with anger. “And my wife knew this, she called for a Witcher as soon as she worked it out, that sneaky heartless cow. May God rest her soul, of course, for she died tragically and mysteriously just a month later, poor thing.” The Lord took a few deep breaths to steady himself. “I have been a patient man, Geralt of Rivia, but now I finally get my revenge.” He turned to his men. “Show the Witcher how good his whore is after his stay with us and I’ll triple your pay.”

One of the men grabbed Jaskier’s cuffed wrists and kicked the back of his knees to force the bard to the ground with a painful sound.

The Lord's eyes were wild as he looked back at Geralt. “Your dog has been so loyal to you, refusing to spill your secrets no matter the reward or punishment. And he was so sure you wouldn’t come! No matter now, I suppose, as once we’ve used him today he can finally be put out of his misery and you, dear Witcher, can rot in that room till you die.”

-

Fury tore at Geralt’s chest.

“You’re going to regret this,” he said, voice thrumming with anger. “There will be nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you to you pay.” Tearing his eyes from the Lord, Geralt went ice cold when he saw one of the men holding Jaskier from behind as another pulled down his trousers to bear himself to the bard. “Jaskier! Jask! I’m coming, hold on, just-“ 

Geralt cut himself off as he left the viewpoint to slam himself again into the door desperately. The door didn’t budge from its deadlocks and Geralt gave a cry of frustration and he pushed again and again. Looking around the empty room wildly, Geralt lifted one of the crates from its pile and threw it at the door, watching the rotten wood splinter uselessly. 

From the window, he heard the Lord cackle at his attempt.

Coming back, Geralt’s stomach lurched at the view of Jaskier being held steady while of the men forced himself into his mouth, giving small grunts of pleasure while Jaskier kept his eyes closed tightly.

“He learned quickly not to bite.” The Lord informed him.

“You are all going to beg for death when I’m done with you.” Geralt said, unable to hide the shake of his voice. He raised his volume slightly to ensure the men further in the room could hear. “Understand? Death will be kind fucking mercy when I get to you!” Geralt slammed his hands against the bars. “Fuck!”

“Excellent idea.” The Lord murmured and snapped his fingers at his men.

Geralt could do nothing but watch as the three men manhandled a gasping and swaying Jaskier to his feet and pushed him into his cot. One of the men wrapped the chain around Jaskier’s forearms, making his cuffed hands useless and giving him nothing to steady himself as the men shoved Jaskier onto his stomach with his face towards Geralt’s window. His loose shirt was being pushed up, showing an expanse of pale skin which he’d more than double the marks it did when Geralt last saw the bard shirtless, most of which were still new and sore, looking swollen and red. When one of the men pulled at Jaskier’s cotton bottoms, the bard seemed to panic and kicked out mindlessly.

“No, no, no, not again, not in front of-“ he cut himself off as his foot met one of his attackers noses, who pulled away with a grunt of pain. “Don’t!”

The man he had hit grabbed him roughly by the hair and yanked back till Jaskier’s neck was exposed uncomfortably far. Blood dribbled down the man’s face who paid it little mind. “Brat! Behave!”

“You’d think a Witcher’s bitch would be grateful to have some human cock.” Laughed the man who had already defiled Jaskier’s mouth and now went about straddling the bards exposed hips.

“You’ve been enjoying this job far too much,” the third man quipped at him, balling up Jaskier’s trousers and throwing them carelessly to one side before offering the man a vial of oil which the second man waved off.

“Cause you haven’t been taking part in the spoils at all.” The man muttered palming himself beyond Geralt’s vision and then moving forward.

Jaskier let out a yelp before sinking his teeth into his own arm to muffle the warbling cry as he was taken. The man holding the vial limply winced slightly.

“Jaskier!” Geralt cried out, yanking fruitlessly at the metal bars and having the Lord tut at his expense. 

“He sung out so beautifully the first week,” he said as if with a longing. “Reached notes I didn’t really know existed if I’m honest. But one night we had him sing that ridiculous coin song all night while he was taken and well, his voice has yet to recover, I guess.”

Geralt didn’t even look at him, instead was unable to tear his eyes from Jaskier’s scrunched up face, half hidden in his blankets and his exposed parts red with humiliation. Tightness pulled at his face muscles as he bit into his arm and, when that bled and he slipped off, into the dirty sheets beneath him. Moistness glittered his cheeks as he whimpered around his mouthfuls, shoulders shaking violently even with on of the men holding them down to the bed firmly and his leg muscles twitching as he was rocked into.

Pulling his heavier silver sword from its place at his back, Geralt forced himself away from the window and snarled as he struck at the door, the heavy wood gaining thin scratches for his effort. Throwing this to the side, Geralt grabbed one of the destroyed crates plank of wood and shoved it at the crack at the base of the door, attempting to lever it open. As he pushed, his sensitive ears still picked up Jaskier’s squeaks, the man’s grunts and the shuffle of the cot. Leaning his heavy weight on the wood, it snapped beneath him and he stumbled forwards, shoving his body into the door and willing it to open. Taking another piece of wood from the floor, Geralt went to retry when a louder moan caught his ears and the shuffling of the bed stopped.

Shakily, Geralt moved and looked through the bars to see the man climbing off Jaskier with a huff, cock soft and wet. On the bed Jaskier glared forwards at nothing as he wheezed out shaky pants. The bard swallowed and coughed.

“Your mother was a better lay.” He croaked at the man, not looking up at his attacker, as so not seeing the hand that flew forwards to back hand him.

“Ungrateful bitch.”

Seething, Geralt turned towards the door again and strode towards it. Instead of slamming his shoulder into the edge where the door opened, Geralt threw his weight into a kick at where the hinges should be on the other side. 

The door wobbled.

“Perhaps he needs another go?” The Lord taunted behind him.

Geralt kicked again.

A sliver of a gap appeared at the edge where the door attached to the wall.

“He’s probably used to it rougher from the Witcher.” One of the men said.

Another kick.

“Maybe he wants it soft for once, it would hurt more to have him enjoy it.”

Kick.

Geralt could see the hinge through the widening gap.

“After all, he says the Witcher never touched him - maybe this way he can pretend.”

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

The door flew off into the adjoining room and silence rang out after the crash. 

Grabbing his blade from the floor, Geralt stepped out and moved towards the wooden door standing between him and his prey.

-

When Geralt entered the room, the five people inside stared at him with wide eyes and open mouths; the faces of the three attackers were filling steadily with fear and then Lords with anger but when Geralt locked gazes with Jaskier, the bright blue eyes held only relief and trust. Geralt closed the door with a click, startling Stenton into snapping at his men.

“Don’t just stand there!”

Two of the men moved towards Geralt with only a second of hesitation, while the third yanked his trousers up over his thighs. The man with the oil reached the Witcher first, still clutching the vial as he formed a fist and threw his weight into a punch to Geralt’s face. It took little effort for Geralt to grab the fist with his left hand and take the man’s elbow in his right before sharply pulling his right hand back and, with it, the man’s elbow in the wrong direction. A sharp noise of bone breaking was over shadowed by the shrill cry but Geralt paid no attention to him and instead stepped forwards to meet the second man who had thought to pull a weapon on the white wolf, at least. Raising an arm, Geralt’s leather bracer took the blow of the dull blade the man had slashed at him with satisfying ease and Geralt took advantage as the man paused in panic to take the knife from his lax grip. Shoving the man into the nearest wall, Geralt pinned a hand to the stone and drove the dull blade straight through the palm to attach it to the wall and the man barely had time to scream, before Geralt was slamming his head into the wall, dazing him. Catching the movement of the first man moving towards the door, Geralt swung his broadsword at the retreating figure as he turned, catching the man at the back of his knees and sending him sprawling to the ground, bleeding messily. 

The third man was still fumbling with his trousers as Geralt strode to him and was shakily clutching a kitchen knife which Geralt had no trouble in snatching from him as he pulled the man close.

“Wait, don’t-“

The man screamed as Geralt drove the blade upwards between the man’s legs and yanked it out just as unceremoniously, feeling the man go heavy in his gasp as his knees gave out under him. He let the man fall to the cry and curl on the ground by his feet, sneering down at him grabbing at his genitals before throwing the knife suddenly to his left: hitting the Lord squarely in the side with the blade as he attempted to dash past and making him fall to the floor as well with a shriek.

By this time, Jaskier had pulled himself up into a sitting position the bed and had settled from pants to deep shaky breaths. Geralt felt his face softening as he moved to the bard, dropping to his knees to bring himself to Jaskier’s view.

“You came.” Was all Jaskier said, voice quiet.

“I came,” Geralt agreed, raising a hand to brush Jaskier’s bruised cheek. “Jask...”

The bard didn’t flinch, but turned from the touch and left Geralt’s hand hovering. “Don’t.”

“Hmmm.” Standing, Geralt pulled his cloak from his shoulders and curled it around Jaskier’s frame. “There’ll be time to talk later.” Turning, Geralt moved towards stand over Lord Stenton who continued to wheeze in the floor, having pulled the knife from his side and had abandoned it in favour of reaching uselessly to the door. The Lord cried out as Geralt yanked him up by his expensive jacket and slammed him into the wall. “Key. Now.”

“Go f-fuck yourself, Witcher.”

Geralt growled and raised a hand but the sound of Jaskier’s chains rattling as he stood shakily still him. 

“The inside jacket pocket, Geralt.”

Roughly, Geralt palmed the inside of the man’s coat till he found the pocket opening and the key it contained. From there, it was easy enough to drag the man across the room and free Jaskier’s grazed and bruised wrists, only to transfer the cuffs to the Lord. Geralt’s fingers traced the air above the marks in Jaskier’s wrists as he did so, swallowing against the lump in his throat as Jaskier allowed this closeness before the bard stepped away from the cot in order to pull Geralt’s black cloak around himself fully.

Lord Stenton leaving heavily against the wall, eyeing Geralt warily. “Now what?”

Geralt grunted at him as he gently nudged Jaskier towards the door. “Now? I have more important things to attend to. So you can stay here and when I return, and I will return before your wounds bring your down, I will tear you and your men apart with my hands and have you beg for deaths release.” With Jaskier out, Geralt moved the still-unconscious man from the first room in to join his comrades. The two men on the floor were in too much distress to react but the man pinned to the wall finally reached up to try and remove the knife holding him in place. Dismissing the glare and yell of frustration from the Lord, Geralt closed the door firmly and slid the deadbolts across to lock the men to await their fate.

-

Jaskier moved gingerly across the room, so slow and careful in his movements that Geralt met him at the staircase just as Jaskier was attempting the first step, wincing painfully as he lifted one foot. Gently, Geralt placed a soft touch to Jaskier’s arm and waited patiently while Jaskier closed his eyes and lowered his leg back down. Reopening his eyes, Jaskier searched Geralt’s face before letting his shoulders slump and his arms relax.

“Alright.”

Without comment, Geralt stooped to place an arm to the back of Jaskier’s thighs while curling the other around the bards body and carefully, so so carefully, lifting the man into his arms and leaning him into his chest. 

For a moment, it seemed Jaskier would sit there stiffly, but a shuddering breath later, the bard seemed to melt, curling into the Witcher’s body and pressing his face into Geralt’s neck. The skin to skin contact made Geralt twitch - no one bar monsters (and Geralt was definitely labelling the men he had just dealt with as monsters) had touched him since that day on the mountain and Geralt had assumed his body had reacclimatised to the lack of contact, but Jaskier, as always, seemed to be the exception to all Geralt’s rules as his body immediately readjusted itself to Jaskier’s reappearance. 

Geralt moved smoothly up the stairs and through the lodge, whistling for Roach as soon as the door to the abandoned building was opened. In his arms, Jaskier took big, greedy gulps of fresh air, tears pooling in his eyes before his slumped against Geralt and fell asleep.

-

Jaskier didn’t wake the entire trip to the town, even when Geralt unsteadily manoeuvred them onto Roach, trying not to jostle the man but painfully aware of how delicate Jaskier must be at that moment. Tempted though he was to have Roach rode them as fast as she could to the safety of the town, when Roach started her own relaxed pace, the smoothest Geralt has ever known her to move, he didn’t kick her any faster and instead trusted his senses that Jaskier was in no immediate danger and would do better to rest. In fact, Geralt had planned to let him sleep longer, but as they came to stop at the stable of a large inn, the bustle of the early-morning drunks and the town bakers awoke the bard with a gasp.

“Easy.” Geralt murmured, pulling Roach to the stop while Jaskier mindlessly and clumsily tried to pull away from the Witcher’s embrace. Swinging off the mare, Geralt steadied Jaskier onto his feet between himself and Roach, hands hovering rather than touching, and only relaxed when Jaskier’s breathing settled and he lifted his head to look around. 

“Want a doctor?” Jaskier’s head shook and Geralt hesitated before deciding not to push. “A bath and bed then.” This time Jaskier nodded and Geralt hummed as he waved over a waiting a stable boy. Geralt gave the boy strict instructions and a promise of a generous tip for Roach to be treated to the best rub down, bed and food the stables had to offer, telling him that she deserved better than most of the human guests. When he turned back to hand the mare’s reigns to the boy, he found Roach allowing Jaskier to lean against her, the bard hands trailing through her mane. Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye and motioned him to the inn door, leaving Roach to her well deserved rest. 

So early in the morning, the bar was mostly empty, but still being cleaned from the night before, only two members of the public swaying in their seats. Geralt barely glanced at them as he walked to the barman, moving slow enough to allow Jaskier to be not even a half a step behind him, staying close. The man greeted them, surprisingly chipper for an innkeeper that was surely up most of the night with drinkers.

“We need a good room; something ground floor with a soft bed and a fire, as well as a hot bath drawn up immediately and some soup bought to us in a bit.” 

The innkeeper tilted his head to agree before calling one of the barmaids over to have the room set up. 

“I’ve had Witcher’s here before... not the usual request for your kind, if I may say so.” The man glanced curiously as Jaskier, swaddled in Geralt’s cape and feet bare, shuffled to place himself more behind the looming figure of the Witcher. Geralt made a rumble in his chest to bring the attention back to himself, which worked as the innkeeper snapped his gaze back to the taller man. “Let me grab your key.” 

When the man leant forwards to pass the key, Geralt held his grasp. 

“My companion may be injured,” Geralt said, ignoring Jaskier’s tensing behind him. “I assume you have a good doctor in a town of this size?”

“...aye,” the barman responded, and Geralt couldn’t tell if the man was more or less comfortable with Jaskier’s condition now. “A family doctor now but he worked as a medic to a royal guard for a while. Tell me if you wish for him to be called.”

Seeing the barmaid return, Geralt grunted and released the man, tossing his a pouch of coins into the bar before guiding Jaskier to follow the barmaid to their room.

-

At Jaskier’s request, Geralt helped the bard into the steaming bath but turned away to unpack while Jaskier slowly bathed, listening with careful Witcher ears to each lift of the washcloth, each ripple of water, and each hiss of pain. Impatiently, Geralt found himself fussing around the room; setting up the fire and arranging the logs in easy access, placing one towel by the fire to warm before changing his mind and using the other, remaking the bed but then realising the maid had done it better, adding his own furs to the blankets, pulling them off again as they looked dirty and reading them a few moments later, all while Jaskier watched cautiously from his bath as he wiped himself slowly clean.

A whimper slipped through to Geralt’s ears and he snapped around to see Jaskier trying and failing to soap up his hair without pulling at the sores on his back. Geralt said nothing as he moved to squat by the tub, rolling his sleeves up and holding a hand open for the soap. Jaskier played with the bar hesitantly before gently passing it over and tilting his head up. 

When Geralt washed his own hair, it was a simple process of removing as much mud and blood from it as possible, untangling the strands roughly as he went. Jaskier has washed Geralt’s hair a multitude of times, massaging his temples and neck skilfully as he chattered on or hummed, using something unseen on the ends of the white hair and leaving Geralt’s hair silken to the touch, never pulling while he untangled. The one time Geralt has washed Jaskier’s hair was when they had faced an unexpected bloedzuiger and the beast had exploded on them. Young enough that it’s bodily fluids didn’t actually burn them, Jaskier had been disgusted by the goo in his hair and had tried to remove the wetness by simply dunking his head into a lake, not watching to come into more contact with the ooze. Once Geralt had finished laughing at the bard, he scrubbed at Jaskier’s hair hard till it was clean again so they could continue their journey. 

Now, Geralt poured handfuls of water over Jaskier’s head before sudsing up his hands and combing them through the bards hair, gently digging his fingertips into the man’s skin as much as he dared. He washed out the hair, minding Jaskier’s eyes with the soap, before repeating not once but twice, satisfied when the water didn’t run dirty down the bards back. With the water now murky but Jaskier clean, Geralt collected the warmed towel and assisted Jaskier out of the tub before wrapping the bard in the soft fabric.

By the time Jaskier was sat on the bed in the cleanest clothes Geralt had, their meals had arrived and the smell of soup, even though it was breakfast time by now, filled the air and had Jaskier swallowing hungrily. Geralt muttered at him to go slow, and while Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the Witcher he did obey and in fact only managed half his bowl before his eyes were dropping and his grip on his bowl went began to weaken. Geralt swiftly removed the bowl and spoon out of reach and gently encouraged the bard to lay down, pulling the covers around Jaskier to encircle him.

“You gonna stay?” Jaskier mumbled at him, voice soft.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

-

Jaskier slept past noon and into the evening and Geralt stayed obediently, tidying the already pristine room and pacing around to listen at the door and window for gossip about the Lord or his men, like a mother lion defending its den. At any mutter or shift from the sleeping figure, Geralt was by the bed at an instant, gently petting and shushing at Jaskier as his dreams no doubt turned sour and seeming to manage to comfort the unconscious bard back into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

Eventually Jaskier stirred awake, heart hammering as he came into consciousness before taking in his surroundings and slowly calming. Geralt watched the man sit up and look around in worry before blue eyes settled on him and Jaskier’s body relaxed, though the bard looked away quickly once he actually met Geralt’s gaze. Geralt huffed, moving from where he was sorting out a calming drink suitable for non-Witches to the bed and sitting when Jaskier slowly pulled his knees up to his chest to make room. For a while, they sat in silence, but it was Geralt that broke it, much to the surprise of them both.

“I had a housekeeper bring some salve from the local doctor up, if you’d like.”

Jaskier stared at the Witcher for a few long moments before shifting his shoulders in a shrug, wiggling himself out of the borrowed shirt and holding his hand out for the jar, which Geralt handed over. Though they had seen each other shirtless many times before, Geralt wondered if he was meant to now avert his eyes so whether that was worse; he was made to kill monsters, not deal with the damage they leave in their wake, he had no idea of how to handle himself in most social situations, let alone circumstances like these. Just when he had decided to remove himself and leave Jaskier to it, a hand brushed against his arm and he looked up to find that Jaskier had turned himself to put his back to Geralt, one hand full of the off-white salve while the other hung in the air barely an inch from Geralt’s bicep. 

“My back,” Jaskier said, voice coming out as a whisper till he cleared his throat and tried again. “I can’t reach my back.”

Surely showing his relief in being guided, Geralt hummed and picked up the open jar on the bed while Jaskier turned himself away, slowly dipping his fingers into his held puddle of cream and painting strips onto his chest and stomach where needed. Since the bard was quiet while doing so, Geralt followed suit, rubbing the salve between his fingers to warm it before gently applying the substance to the marks crossing Jaskier’s skin. 

A bite mark sat on the right shoulder blade and Geralt couldn’t help but cover it three times in the cream, willing it to disappear under his fingers.

Words were falling out of his mouth before he even realised he had opened it.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier’s back straitened in a sudden tense. “Not for- well, yes, for this, of course for this but also... also before. And for not realising... And for not getting their... for,” Geralt sighed. “I’m sorry for a lot of things. Almost everything, really.” Jaskier stayed facing forwards but didn’t move away so Geralt tried to continue. “I didn’t mean what I said, at the dragons hide.”

“You were angry.” Jaskier said, voice flat.

Geralt shook his head. “At myself, not at you and yet I took it out on you anyway. Then I wasn’t- I wasn’t there and I... stayed not there because I was too damn proud to look at your letter.”

Hearing Jaskier swallow, Geralt waited on edge.

“I couldn’t help but think you wouldn’t come. That things were too far gone.”

“I wouldn’t have left you there, Jaskier. Never.”

The back of Jaskier’s head nodded and Geralt leant his own forwards to press his forehead against an unmarked area of Jaskier’s back.

“I thought you hated me.” The bard whispered.

“You should hate me.” Geralt murmured back.

“I don’t.”

“I don’t you either.”

-

Jaskier napped through the night but in the early morning Geralt woke him gently, again the bard waking in a panic before seeing the room around him and settling once again.

“I have a few errands in town,” Geralt told him, handing him a cup of the calming potion that Jaskier had agreed to try. “I won’t be gone all day but I didn’t want to risk you waking while I was gone.”

 _‘Don’t sneak off while I’m asleep,’_ Jaskier had asked of Geralt the night before, already drifting and maybe not in control of his mouth. _‘Don’t wanna wake up alone.’_

Jaskier looked down at his drink and hummed. “Be careful.”

“It’s shopping, Jaskier, you can’t wear my clothes forever.”

“Ah, clothes, that’s why you’ve already put your armour outside the door then?” At Geralt’s silence, Jaskier raised a corner of his lips. “Can’t fool me, Witcher, it’s not in the room and you don’t let others clean it.”

“Fuck.”

Jaskier waved him off and downed the drink. “Just don’t tell me about it till I ask.”

-

Geralt actually did go into town, sourcing a few sets of clothes for Jaskier, none like his old ones but they would be good and comfortable to travel in. But this was after lunch, after Geralt had already had a busy morning and had to sacrifice one of his own shirts, unsure of how well it would come clean. He returned to the inn with an impressive set of coins, a lute case and two familiar if slightly dirty bags.

Jaskier picked through his bags that evening without much excitement, happy to have his notebooks more than his fine clothes but was delighted to see his lute unharmed, finally curling his lips into a bright Jaskier smile. 

“Thank you, Geralt.” He said, fingers trailing over the neck and body before plucking a few chords that the Witcher knew all too well.

“Jask, that song...” He trailed off, unsure.

Jaskier frowned. “It’s my song. It won’t be taken from me.” But he didn’t continue, instead set the lute back into its case and let Geralt guide him to the bed. “We should probably leave. I don't know where... where they were from.”

Geralt hummed. He had wondered this. “Tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I don’t think we need to rush.”

Curling into the bed, Jaskier stilled Geralt’s hands before they tried to pull the blankets up and cover him. “When did you last sleep?”

“I don’t need to sleep.”

“Geralt.”

“Jaskier.” At the bards stubborn glare, Geralt sighed. “I’m not sure. A while. I’m fine.”

“Well I'm not,” the admission made Geralt’s throat catch. “Lay down, Geralt, keep me safe.”

Tempted like a sailor to a siren, Geralt gave in easily as Jaskier played to his need to protect. Huffing out a sigh, Geralt climbed in and arranged himself around the bard, putting Jaskier between his body and the wall. Propped up on one elbow, Geralt looked down at Jaskier. “Safe?”

“Safe,” Jaskier hesitated but opened his mouth again. “You know, right? You have to know after what they said, even if you didn’t know before.”

“Is that a riddle?”

_”Geralt.”_

The Witcher signed heavily and shook his head. “I think I know. But it’s a stupid idea, and dangerous, clearly. Even being associated has- well.”

“You haven’t said you don’t feel the same.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you about it, when your choice to lie to me about it was taken out of your hands.”

“Ok,” Jaskier said, and then again. “Ok.” Then he leant up, and pressed a light kiss to the Witcher’s lips. “It’s gonna be messy, I’m still angry, you’re always angry, I’m all over the place, there’s Yennifer and you’ve gotta hunt-“

“We’ll have to go to Cintra soon.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows in surprise but tilted his head. “We’ll be heading to Cintra and that’s a whole other story.” When Jaskier laid back down, Geralt followed suit and curled around the bard. “Chaos, it’s gonna be really messy.”

“But you’re safe.” Geralt murmured in his ear.

“Safe.”

-


End file.
